


Detailing

by battle_cat



Series: Together [21]
Category: Mad Max Series (Movies)
Genre: Angst and Fluff and Smut, F/M, Lingerie, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Underground Mall
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-19
Updated: 2017-03-19
Packaged: 2018-10-07 15:11:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10363278
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/battle_cat/pseuds/battle_cat
Summary: Furiosa meets Before-time lingerie, in the interest of surprising Max. Asmutty_artsprompt fill.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Based on YoukaiYume's [smutty art](http://youkaiyume.tumblr.com/post/158277039378/warning-nsfw-this-was-a-smut-prompt-for).
> 
> Very vaguely references my [other mall fic](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5206130), but not necessary to have read that one.

She saw him looking. She doesn’t think he saw her see.

They had passed the small forest of delicate lacy underthings on their hunt for more practical items for Max: clean shorts and a shirt that didn’t reek, and a pair of soft sleeping pants she’d convinced him were for her but eyeballed against the width of his hips when he wasn’t looking.

She’d caught his gaze lingering over the frills and bows, the drifts of gauze and confusing straps dumped on the floor in the hunt for useful elastic and wire. He hadn’t said anything, but she’d seen him run a finger surreptitiously over a bit of shiny fabric still hanging on a rack, and then the blasted idea wouldn’t leave her mind.

So here she is, having excused herself from supervising the salvage crew that’s disassembling the racks in the dress store down the hallway, standing in front of a baffling array of frilly undergarments and feeling overwhelmed and annoyed at herself for it.

It’s not like she’s never _seen_ a bra, but these seem far more complicated than the practical, thick-strapped things she remembers some of her older Mothers wearing when she was a child. Some seem to have far too many straps, and others have none at all, and at least one seems designed to be worn in three or four different ways, none of which look like they would stay in place longer than two moves of a fight.

She’s somewhat intrigued by a kind of bra thing with a shirt of lacy fabric trailing down from it, but when she reaches to pull it off the rack its neighbor gets snagged on her metal hand and rips while she’s trying to disentangle it, and that’s enough to send her away from that rack entirely.

There’s some plainer stuff further back in the store. She doesn’t know how the sizes work, but after digging through the racks a bit she finds a bra that looks like it might fit her. It’s black, at least, with a minimum of bows—one; the required minimum appears to be one—and a scalloped band of lace in a flowery pattern at the edge of the fabric that would cover her breasts. She can’t get the fastenings closed behind her back one-handed, but the girth seems close enough to fitting right, and the cups fit over her breasts the way she thinks they’re supposed to when she holds it up against her chest over her shirt. There’s a rack of underwear that matches it, and overall it seems like the least ridiculous option.

She wraps the bra and underwear in some spare plastic and stuffs them down into the bottom of her salvage bag.

 

She manages to sneak away in the hour before dinner to give herself a quick wash and unwrap the underwear. The panties fit reasonably well (they have a bow on them too; it doesn’t even connect to anything) and with her arm off she at least is not worried about ripping anything.

Fastening the bra behind her back proves impossible. After half a dozen attempts she gives up and turns it around so the clasps are in the front where she can at least see what the hell she’s doing. (Did Before-time women really put up with this every day?) With her stump holding one side of the fabric against her torso she manages to hook the clasp together, only to realize the band is twisted when she turns it around. She sighs and unhooks the thing again, gets it fastened properly this time, but when she slips the straps over her shoulders the whole thing seems to ride up absurdly, her breasts threatening to slide out the bottom and…why exactly is she doing this again?

It had seemed like a good idea, getting something to surprise him. Something frivolous that he would never expect from her. Something that he would find…sexy? No, that wasn’t quite it. She already knew he found her sexy; his body had made that clear from the first night he’d come back to the Citadel. Feminine? That was closer, and maybe why this felt like putting on a costume far trickier and more confining than some bits of elastic and lace.

As a Wife she had done what she was told with her body, shaving it and plucking it and putting oils in her hair to keep it long and soft. In the Vault it had been easier to think of her body as an object to which she had no connection, a vessel to be prepared and presented for use.

Being with Max is nothing like that, and she had enjoyed learning what felt good, what they could make her body do together, and what he liked, the words and touches and positions that turned him on. It had never occurred to her that he might prefer it if she looked a certain way—or worse, that she might care about his approval.

She scrubs a hand over her face and one of her breasts makes a bid for freedom, popping out of the bottom of the silky bra. She tugs the thing off with a growl of frustration…and realizes the straps are adjustable and probably need to be loosened. That’s a trick with one hand as well, but damn it all to hell if she’s gonna be defeated by smegging _underwear_.

With the straps lengthened it fits more the way she thinks it’s supposed to. It’s not nearly as supportive as the wrapped cloth she wears when she’s planning to be on the road or fighting, but everything more or less stays where it should. There’s an inexplicable thin piece of something hard under her breasts that stabs her in the ribs when she moves the wrong way, but hell if she’s taking the thing off yet again to investigate that.

Her mirror is only a broken scrap, but when she stands back far enough to see her torso the look is…not totally ludicrous. Mostly all right. Maybe she even likes the way the lace looks against the swell of her breasts. And, well, she bothered to get the damn things. She is going through with this.

 

They sit next to each other at dinner, as they always do when he is here. The slippery cloth feels strange against her breasts and between her legs, a twinge somewhere between nervousness and excitement every time she moves.

She can’t tell exactly how he knows something is going on, but she catches him watching her more than once, a flick of a glance so subtle no one else would register it. When they’ve both wiped their plates clean she places her flesh hand on his good knee under the table and that’s all the encouragement he needs to get up and accompany her to her room.

“What?” he says as soon as she bars the door, the corners of his mouth ticking up just slightly.

“I, uh, got something for you.” His forehead wrinkles in a question. “Turn around.”

He turns his back to her, waiting patiently while she unstraps her arm and strips out of her clothes. She can’t check herself in the mirror from this angle but at least everything feels like it has stayed in the right place. She’s glad she took time to figure it out beforehand instead of while he’s standing right there.

“Okay,” she says when she’s naked except for the underwear.

Any awkwardness is worth it for the look on his face when he turns around.

“Oh. You…” He’s fighting back a grin, his cheeks flushed, and she feels a stupid rush of relief. “You look…”

He finishes the sentence by stepping into her space, his hands landing warm on her bare skin as he kisses her, stroking up her sides and over the silky fabric covering her breasts. His thumb traces the line where lace meets skin and it strikes a spark of want inside her, and that’s a relief too, that the engine still runs the same even if the detailing is different than what she’s used to. She twines her fingers into his hair as he kisses her neck, and when she presses against him she can feel him already getting hard through his leathers.

“That got your attention,” she whispers in his ear, nudging her hips against his.

“You look really hot,” he mumbles against her neck. 

She nips his earlobe and he squeezes her ass and then she’s pushing him back until his legs hit the stone bench by the worktable. He sits down and she clambers onto his lap, and before she’s even got her balance his face is between her breasts, nuzzling and nipping and making her arch back against the circle of his arms, trusting him to hold onto her. His mouth drifts, finds her nipple hard through the thin fabric and sucks, greedy and a bit rough, and she moans at the spike of heat it sends through her. One of his hands is firm around her waist and the other runs up to play with the breast his mouth isn’t working over, and the novel feeling of him sucking and stroking and teasing her through the delicate fabric is revving her up with dizzying speed.

“ _Fuck,_ Max,” she whines when his lips and tongue on her breast give way to teeth.

He pulls away, his mouth distractingly swollen. “Too much?”

“No, just…you’re making me very wet.”

“Mm.” His fingers slide between her legs, to where the thin strip of black fabric is soaked through. He smiles at the hitch in her breath when his thumb brushes against her clit through the fabric. “Yes.”

His fingers tease, tiny clever motions in just the right spot, a lighter touch than she could ever feel through her leathers, and she didn’t think she was quite that close but she shudders and comes with a surprised gasp, her forehead tipping forward against his. He makes a pleased noise, kissing her nose, her cheek, her temple.

“Wanna fuck you in your pretty underwear,” he murmurs.

There’s a moment of fumbling with brace and boots. They stumble over to the bed, Max discarding the rest of his clothes haphazardly along the way. When she tugs him down next to her on the mattress he ducks his head and sucks a hard kiss on the inside of her thigh. She moves to wriggle out of the underwear but he shakes his head.

“Like this.” He rolls onto his back, urging her on top of him, straddling him again. He peels aside the soaked fabric between her legs and there’s enough stretch in the underwear to expose her cunt, let her post up on her knees and work his cock inside her, a slow slick slide that makes them both groan.

“Like this?” She starts grinding, low and steady against him the way she knows he likes, gets an overwhelmed noise out of him. She moves one leg up closer to his shoulder, which doesn’t give her as much leverage but opens her up wider, lets her sink down a little deeper on his cock. His thumb is hooked under the waistband of her underwear, fingers kneading idly at her thigh as she rocks. The hand not gripping her thigh is back to trailing over the lace on her breasts.

He’s looking up at her, breathless and adoring, and it’s suddenly too much. She closes her eyes, breaks the contact, and concentrates on what she can feel, the twitches of his hips and the way he moves inside her, the thudding of his heart under her palm balanced on her chest. She squeezes down on him and grinds until she feels him jerk and spill inside her.

She sways forward to lie against his chest, both of them sweaty and exhausted. His hands are on her back and the back of her neck, stroking slowly. 

After a moment she eases them apart, rolls off him carefully. The crotch of her underwear is soaked with both their fluids, and she peels off the damp fabric and tosses it somewhere on the floor near the bed. Max cuddles up against her, his face tucked against her neck, her leg hooked over his. For a fuzzy amount of time she just lies there running her fingers through his hair.

At some point she becomes aware that the hard thing in the bottom of the bra is poking her again.

Max is more than halfway asleep when she shifts her position. “Could you…?” She rolls over with her back to him and makes a vague motion at the fastenings of the bra.

He unhooks it for her. “How’d you get it on?” he mumbles.

“Determination.”

He gives a soft laugh and she feels him press a kiss between her shoulderblades.

“Gotta piss,” she says, easing her way out of his embrace. “Right back.”

After she’s done with the sand bucket she wets the washing cloth and wipes the come and slick from between her legs, then nudges Max onto his side so she can clean him up too. When she slips back into bed he folds around her, his body heavy and loose with sleep. She stares at the ceiling and tries to identify the vague twinge of unease lodged under her diaphragm.

“Max?”

“Nn.”

“Do you wish that I was more…?” More like the faded pictures in the mall tell her how Before-time women were supposed to be, long hair and painted lips and softness.

“Hnn?”

“That I wore pretty things, and…” She trails off, not sure how to say what she means. She wonders if his Before-time woman was like that, if she was soft and wore things made out of silk and lace.

He’s looking at her, and she isn’t sure what shows on her face but he trails a finger down the line of her jaw. “You’re perfect.”

She snorts.

He nuzzles against her neck, lips brushing her jaw, her earlobe.

“Was sexy, mm, that you did something for me,” he murmurs, punctuating his sentences with soft little kisses. “Because you thought I would like it. Mm…‘n I did like it.”

“I like that you liked it,” she says, and it’s true. Knowing that she had done something that turned him on was exhilarating, even if putting on the delicate underwear had felt like wearing a costume. A fun costume, with Max involved, but nothing like her natural skin. 

“But, mm, I like you how you are.” He’s avoiding her gaze now, fingers tracing a line from her collarbone to her sternum to the hard muscle of her stomach. “Don’t have to, ah, be someone else for me. I like you.” He leans down and kisses her stomach, looks up at her with his chin resting on her torso.

“Fool,” she mutters, her voice suddenly raw. She nudges him up to lie tucked against her shoulder again.


End file.
